Cold
by Yesac
Summary: Luke wasn't the only one that Obi-Wan visited after he died.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own much, and what I do own doesn't encompass any part of the Star Wars universe. Pity.

**Feedback**: Is a nice break from writing papers for college—so, yes, I'd very much appreciate it.

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There is no sunlight in this part of space.

Here, where the stars are only pinpricks of light against a backdrop of eternal night, the only light he receives is faint and, often, artificial. _Everything_ seems artificial now, right down to a large portion of his body. Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can imagine all that's fake in his surroundings seeping into his bones, consuming what is left of him. Then, there will be nothing true, and he will be as empty as the black expanse of space before him. Sometimes, when he stares at it, he thinks he already is.

Space is indeed, as the whisperings of a long-dead woman murmur, cold, in every sense of the word.

"I always knew you'd be the death of me, you know." There is nothing in the speaker's voice to suggest that he's angry about that. Instead, where a logical person would place resent, something strangely like regret lurks, and maybe even a little pity. "Oddly, now that I'm proven correct, I'm not as bothered by it as I thought I'd be."

The gears in Vader's mechanical hands—_both_ hands now, thanks to the man behind him—grind as he clenches his fists, putting undue stress on the prosthetics. He should be surprised to hear that voice, but ever since he looked down at an old cloak devoid of the body that just moments before had been within it, Vader has had a feeling something like this was going to happen. Equate it to a warning in the Force or just his knowledge of the character of the man in question, but he _knew_.

"Get out, Obi-Wan."

A soft chuckle drifts into his auditory sensors. The sound is as audible as if it weren't first being filtered through his helmet, but he somehow still misses the_ rawness_ of untouched noise. Even if his ears themselves have been mostly burned away, the inner parts are in working order; unfortunately, it hardly matters, since life without his helmet—and therefore without auditory assistance—is impossible. He will never simply _hear_ again.

He has to wonder if the man behind him knows how that feels. Probably not. The afterlife can't have made him omniscient.

Surely the universe isn't _that_ cruel.

"You want me to leave, and yet I'll wager that there's nothing you fear more than the silence."

"I don't fear anything anymore."

"On the contrary, I think you're _consumed_ by your fear." Obi-Wan pauses. Vader still doesn't look at him, not willing to give him even that small concession until absolutely necessary—and it _will_ be necessary... just not yet. "It's ironic, isn't it? The one thing you fear the most, you're now surrounded by. You're very alone, Anakin."

"That name has no meaning to me anymore," he snaps, wishing he could do more than silently cross his arms and stare out the window into the blackness of space. Even the view—so icy cold and terribly dark—echoes Obi-Wan's words. He _is_ alone, both in mind and surroundings.

"Then why does it cause such a reaction?"

He's always hated Obi-Wan's reasoning, mostly because it's always been _good_.

"No matter what you say, _Anakin_, I think your reaction to that name merely underscores what I am trying to tell you: it reminds you of a time when you had people who loved you, and it also forces you to consider how you threw that all away. It reminds you just how _alone_ you are."

Now, finally, he turns to look at the owner of the voice behind him. "Have you come to torture me, Obi-Wan?" he asks, his mechanical voice laced with anger and irritation.

Obi-Wan doesn't look like the last time he saw him. The man he faced on the _Death Star_ was an old, aged version of the man he knew. This person before him now _is_ Obi-Wan, as Anakin knew him when he first became his master, albeit without the blue glow that now shadows his figure. Jedi Robes; hair just beginning to grow out of a padawan cut; beardless face; small, easy smile that reaches his eyes—_this_ is a young version of the man who was his master. This is a man Anakin remembers.

This is a man he once loved.

Now, in place of that emotion, all he can feel is a desperate longing for what he can no longer have, and even that is overshadowed by the bitterness eating away at his insides.

"No, you know better," Obi-Wan says gently, crossing his arms over his chest. "At least, you would have _once_. Now... well, now, I don't suppose you'd understand why I'd bother to try to alleviate your loneliness, even a little bit."

"You are right. I would not." Nor will he believe it. Obi-Wan's motives can't be so simple. "I have nothing but bitterness towards you now. Your presence is an irritant."

His words are answered with a sad smile. "I know. But it _is_ better than the ache of being alone with only your own thoughts for company, isn't it."

It's not a question. Obi-Wan never did ask questions like that—he only ever asked the answers, leaving Anakin to formulate the inquiry. Sometimes, he didn't answer at all, and that was always the worst. It felt like being shut out. It felt like he's feeling now... like he's been feeling every day since he sank to his knees in Palpatine's office. And, though he'd never admit it, when Obi-Wan's presence begins to fade moments later, he can't deny that this is the first time in years that he's felt anything different, no matter how slight it might be.

As the quiet settles in once again, heavy and oppressive, Vader realizes just how right Obi-Wan is.

Loneliness aches.

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"Are you ever going to tell me how you're able to do this?"

This time Obi-Wan is sitting in a chair across the room, one leg casually crossed across his lap, his ankle resting on the knee of his other leg. Today, he's the same as he was when the Republic fell: parted hair that's golden-red with just a touch of gray at the temples, neatly trimmed beard, and gentle eyes that always seemed to search out every part of Anakin.

At the question, Obi-Wan arches one eyebrow and smiles. "We'll see."

Vader wishes he could still sigh. Unfortunately, his respirator denies him even that superfluity. "I tire of your cryptic answers, old man."

Obi-Wan's beard twitches as his smile shifts into something dangerously close to a smirk. "Then stop asking questions."

He's infuriating. He always has been, and Vader is tempted to use the Force to hurl the remnants of the meeting he's just held—some papers and folders—out of the nearest airlock. It's entirely twisted that Obi-Wan is haunting him in a _boardroom_, ten minutes after his meeting with Imperial officers. That's too common, and Vader doesn't want this to become a habit—he doesn't want Obi-Wan to get comfortable. That would simply be _wrong_. Of course, there's something wrong anyway. His entire _life_ is wrong. Really, what's one more thing?

When that thing is Obi-Wan, he knows, it's best never to underestimate _anything_.

"Why are you even _here_?" he demands, sinking back down into a chair.

Obi-Wan merely remains where he is, infuriatingly calm. If anything, he only leans back a little further into his chair, giving the appearance of comfort. Vader has to wonder if he knows that the Imperial officer who sat in that chair mere minutes before ordered the mass execution of over one thousand people. He probably does. That would be very like Obi-Wan to twist things by choosing a seat that reeks of evil, just to make a point. Something about light overcoming darkness and having the last word. It's deliberate symbolism, but Vader purposely refuses to contemplate it any further.

"You asked that last time. Don't repeat: redundancy is tedious."

"Your _presence_ is redundant," he growls, slamming his gloved fist down on the table.

Obi-Wan's brows furrow, creasing the line of skin between them as he draws a finger lightly across the table in a gesture probably meant to deliberately indicate boredom. "Do better, Anakin. A retort like that is hardly in keeping with the standards you set during your teenage years."

"If you weren't already dead, I would_ kill _you."

"As I've said, repetition is tedious."

He covers his mouth with a hand in what Vader knows is an attempt to hide a smile. How polite. He's all cultured tone and impeccable manners, and from the time Anakin was nine, that's what he showed his padawan. It gives Vader a little thrill of victory to realize how utterly he's discarded those bits of his former master. After all, he very much doubts that Obi-Wan would consider mass murder _polite_.

"Get _out_!" he finally bellows, rising from his chair. When he does this with living people, they cower in fear and anticipate how the Force will feel around their throat as he chokes the life out of them. He revels in the fear hiding in their eyes, in the tightness of their mouths as they make a final, pathetic attempt at courage.

Obi-Wan only stares at him with a look of muted pity.

"Are you happy like this, Anakin?" he says after a few moments. "Do you like how you live now?"

"I—"

What?

He what?

He intended to continue in his rage, but the question hits him harder than he'd have liked, and he finds himself stopping to consider it. He's not happy. He hasn't been for so long that he doesn't even remembers what it feels like. Does that make him unhappy if he can't recall what it is to be anything else?

"You never could lie to me, you know," Obi-Wan says far more gently than Vader thinks he's entitled to. "Not well, anyway. Even with Padme, I knew, but I just chose not to see."

A chill shoots up Vader's spine. Padme.

"Don't speak her name."

"Why not? Does it bother you?"

"This is none of your concern," he snaps, angrily pointing a gloved finger at Obi-Wan. He hates the way he's curled in that chair, so comfortable, in the prime of life forever in death, and just so _himself_. Obi-Wan is everything that he remembers him to be, and that drags forward memories of a different time.

A time when he remembered what it was like to be happy.

A time long passed.

"Maybe not," Obi-Wan agrees with a slight shrug. "But it _is_ yours."

"She means nothing to me anymore."

"The chance of her death was the catalyst which started the reaction to make you what you are. Will you truly lie to yourself and say she means nothing?"

With a sweep of his dark cloak, he hastily turns away from Obi-Wan and stalks back towards the opposite wall. "That is irrelevant. She _did_ mean something to me. She no longer does."

"Then why do you react when her name is mentioned? And why do you hunt the son you created with her?"

"Her son with _Anakin Skywalker_," he retorts, still not turning around. "Not my son. I search for him because he is strong in the Force—because he would be powerful if turned."

"And, yet, you know the Rule of Two as clearly as anyone... and I'm sure you're aware Sidious doesn't intend to be the one to die."

"Together with my son, we will overthrow Palpatine. We will rule the galaxy."

Obi-Wan chuckles softly. "I thought you said he was _Anakin Skywalker's _son?"

"Do not twist my words, old man."

"I don't twist them. I simply repeat what you give me... and, as impossible as it seems, you supply me with the tattered remnants of a light I'd thought extinguished forever. A light I'm sure you still believe doesn't exist."

"You know _nothing_!" Now, Vader spins around, intent on doing something. Anything. He doesn't know what.

It doesn't matter. Obi-Wan is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own much, and what I do own doesn't encompass any part of the Star Wars universe. Pity.

**Feedback**: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply (especially if it's specific, although any kind is much appreciated).

**Notes:** I forgot to post last time that this story has three parts. Sorry about that! So, yes, this is 2/3.

Ceres McClure: I've always thought that Vader probably saw Padme in Luke. Plus, Luke was just so obviously _light, _and I think that appealed to the tiny bit of good left in Vader. So, basically, I think that was the catalyst. However, I'm very partial to Obi-Wan, as most people can probably tell, so I'm having a good time making him the catalyst. Thanks for reviewing! :)

Templa Otmena: I enjoy those fics, too, especially, as you said, if Obi-Wan is younger again. There's just something about making Vader face his former master as the man that he was when Vader was Anakin that is an interesting dynamic. And I'm all for the reverse psychology theory, too!

ObiBettina7: Sadly, I am. This (writing and posting fanfiction) is basically my stress reliever that I do at night to unwind.

Hazelcloud: Thank you! Although, it's not a one-shot. :) I should have made that clear when I posted the first bit. Sorry!

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"Do you truly expect him to call out to you for help after what you've just done to him?"

No. Of course not. He cut his own son's hand off. Of course the boy wouldn't call to him—not with his view of things. Oh, but if only the boy _understood_. Together, as father and son, they could be great. They could rule the galaxy. That's why he's so dedicated to find his son, he's sure, except for that one lingering doubt that gnaws at his insides, whispering that maybe he wants his son for more than that.

Whispering that maybe he wants his son because Luke is exactly that: his _son_.

Clenching his fist, Vader tears his gaze away from the spot from which the _Millennium Falcon_ vanished just moments ago. No fit of temper directed at an incompetent underling will bring it back. It is gone, and his son with it.

"I did only what was necessary," he replies icily, turning away from the window to address his former master. Today, Obi-Wan is somewhere in between what Vader knew him as. Here, his hair is streaked with gray, and lines are beginning to appear in his skin, etched there by age and stress. Only his eyes remain as young as they seemed when Vader knew him.

"Necessary?" Obi-Wan asks, stroking his beard and frowning. "Was cutting off his hand necessary? You of all people should know the pain of loosing a limb, Anakin."

"Better a hand than his head."

"Ah, yes, and the next time he doesn't agree with you, what will you do then? Skewer one of his kidneys? After all, to live he only needs _one_..."

"I did not wish to harm my son!" he replies heatedly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was left with no choice."

Obi-Wan, who is clothed in his traditional Jedi robes, slips his hands inside the sleeves in a gesture Vader will always associate with his childhood—with Obi-Wan when he was cross. Vader always hated that stance. It's impersonal; defensive; and, even now, it gives nothing away. The only hint of emotion is the disappointment in his gaze, tinged with sadness. "Isn't it odd how that always seems to be the case. Is it ever your fault, Anakin? Do you ever take responsibility for your own failures?"

"I don't owe you answers. Do not suppose that you can demand them of me."

Obi-Wan waves his hand casually, as if dismissing the question. "I don't need answers, Anakin. I only want you to be truthful with _yourself_."

Vader doesn't answer. It's been years since he's had to deal with a situation of this nature, and the more he's faced with Obi-Wan, the less he's sure how to proceed. In life, if anyone spoke to him in this manner, he would have them killed. _He_ would kill them. He would crush the life out of them in a few short moments, reveling in the intoxicating rush of power he'd experience when the life slipped from their bodies. Here, he can't do that.

The harsh truth is, he can't touch Obi-Wan—not in any sense of the word.

"Tell me, what is it that you want for your son? Do you even know? Do you want him to have to live as you do now? Unhappy? Alone?"

No. Yes. He can't begin to know, and he despises—_hates_—Obi-Wan for making him consider it. He shouldn't have to, because as destructive as his life has become, it's _easy_, at least in the sense that he doesn't have to think much about it. He shut down years ago the part of himself that cared. "You do not know the power of the dark side."

"Power. Oh, Anakin," he says softly, shaking his head. A lock of graying hair slips down into his eyes, and when he glances back up at Vader, his eyes have aged. They're tired. _He_ looks tired. "Power has never saved anything you've loved. Power has made you incapable of love. Power has destroyed your life. In your quest to control everything, you've reached a place where you've lost everything you sought to gain. Would you do that to your son?"

"Get out, Obi-Wan," he whispers, hating how weak he sounds. Right now, in the face of Obi-Wan's eternality, he is hyper-aware of each move of his prosthetic limbs, every suck-hiss his respirator makes, and the way his world is colored red by his oculars. He is perishable, while Obi-Wan is everlasting.

"You still have the chance to set things right, Anakin," he says quietly. Slowly, he begins to make his way forward, moving with a grace that, given the age his body appears to be, he shouldn't possess. "This is your child, Anakin--_Padme's_ child. I know you have no love left for anyone else—yourself included—but would you truly destroy the part of your son that is Padme? He is your _child_, Anakin. Yours and Padme's. And he is good. Very good."

"GET OUT!"

He wants to yell and rage at Obi-Wan, but as the man moves closer to him, making his way until scant inches separate them, he finds movement impossible. No one is stopping him—nothing but his own morbid curiosity, and maybe fascination at seeing another human being so close after all this time. Now, people fear him—they do not seek to approach him. Yet, somehow, here is Obi-Wan, entirely unafraid, and smiling sadly.

"He is everything that was ever good about both of you, Anakin. And he is your last chance."

As Vader watches, Obi-Wan slowly—so deliberately—raises his hand, reaching forward as if to touch the black material of Vader's mask. As fascinated as he is, Vader isn't sure why he's not moving. He has no love left for this man—only a longing for a time when he did. It's not the same thing. Even that is too marred by hate and bitterness to be of any real use now, and surely Obi-Wan must know that. "Your last chance, Anakin," he repeats gently, with a care that Vader can never begin to understand.

Obi-Wan vanishes just as his fingers ghost over the part of the mask that conceals what's left of Vader's cheek.

Under the mask, Vader's skin tingles with warmth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own much, and what I do own doesn't encompass any part of the Star Wars universe. Pity.

**Feedback**: Let me know what you think, please.

**Notes:** Part 3/3.

Templa Otmena: I kind of always got the sense that Vader missed the time when he could feel emotions beyond hate and anger. There's one part in the movies where he tells Luke that it's too late for him (Vader), like he kind of regrets it. It's like he's just given in and accepted that he'll always be evil, even if he doesn't like that about himself. It sort of seems as though he wishes it were different, but he doesn't ever expect it will be.

ObiBettina7: Here's your part after ROTJ. :)

Hazelcloud: I think that's really a key: Anakin hates himself as much as he's ever hated anyone else.

Earthwhisper: It would indeed be awesome if he were still alive, but I've already done that plot line. I do my best to diversify. :)

the Maelstrom: Wow, thank you. I'm certainly not sure I'm worthy of all that, but I'm appreciate just the same.

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During all the years that Anakin spent with Obi-Wan, he can never recall a time that his master deliberately abandoned him. If he was forced to leave, he always came back. Always.

The first and only time that Obi-Wan left Anakin of his own free will was a time when Anakin was no longer really Anakin at all.

That doesn't make Vader hate him any less for it.

Mustafar will always be a constant memory in his mind, hovering just below the surface, torturing him with the promise of what he could have been if only things had turned out a bit differently. If he'd won, his powers never would have been halved. Today, if Mustafar hadn't happened, he could be the most powerful being in the galaxy, and he certainly wouldn't have to know the horrible frustration of depending on machines for life.

He will never forget the agonizing pain of liquid fire searing across his skin, charring it to the bone in some places until he hardly knew where he ended and the fire started. He could smell himself burning, a sickly sweet stink of immolated flesh. He _saw_ his skin and hair go up in flames.

And Obi-Wan stood there and let it happen.

It does not matter to Vader that he gave Obi-Wan little choice. Neither, in his mind, is it relevant that, had he called for help, he is sure Obi-Wan would have answered. Most importantly, it doesn't matter that Obi-Wan has finally come back now, years after he walked away.

And he _has_ come back. Again.

Vader saw him as he informed his son of his intentions to deliver him to the Emperor. Luke didn't realize it—of that Vader is sure. He never glimpsed Obi-Wan standing just beyond him, a quick vision that could almost be attributed to a trick of the light. Like the flick of a cape when the owner has just hurried around a corner, he was there one moment and gone a second later.

But for at least a moment, _he was there_.

Vader caught sight of him again as Sidious taunted Luke with mentions of his friends, with thinly veiled threats and promises, all steeped in the dark side. This time, he was nothing more than a hazy image, filling in slowly until he reached clarity for a few moments only—just long enough to give Vader a long, undecipherable look—before he faded out again, leaving nothing in his place.

But, once again, he _was_ there.

And now, as Sidious tortures Anakin's son with lighting that crawls over nerves like molten fire—how horribly ironic—he appears again.

"Anakin," he says simply, old and young all at the same time, tired and energized, but with eyes so clear that Vader can read the hope hanging in them. "Come home, Anakin. Let yourself come home. Let your _son_ bring you _home_."

Home. It's been so long.

_Home_.

Inside of him, just for an instant, something flares, ignited by the spark of hope that comes with the promise of something that he once had, but that he lost years ago. He has been alone for so long, and like a candle lit in the darkness, the light brought on by hoping for a cessation to that loneliness pushes back the darkness just enough to snatch a modicum of sight, though it can hardly overcome the inky black. Still, it is enough.

The light is not for Obi-Wan. Too much has happened between them, and Vader has nursed a hatred of him for too long for that to be possible. That Anakin once loved him is irrelevant. What Vader feels and what Anakin felt cancel each other out.

For the moment, that is sufficient.

To feel nothing for Obi-Wan—not love, but not hatred, either—allows him to regard his words without weighing them in relation to the person speaking. It gives him the chance to see the logic—the logical _promise_—in them.

It allows him to see that his son truly can bring him home_._

"Father!" Luke screams, calling for him, his handsome face twisted in agony. He can see the echoes of his own visage in that face. Once, he looked a bit like that. Is that why Obi-Wan cares so much? Does he see Anakin in Luke?

Or is it something else entirely?

Does it even matter what _Obi-Wan_ sees?

Or is it about what _he_ sees?

Obi-Wan can't save him. Vader can't even save himself. But in his son—in Luke—he sees things he thought gone forever. In his child, he glimpses a flicker of the man he once was; he sees the echoes of Padme. The simple innocence he lost so long ago hangs there; and a promise of something more cannot be denied.

He sees the possibility of redemption.

All he has to do is accept it.

And, finally, he does.

He just does.

He doesn't take time to think about it, because if he pauses for that long, he will consider all the ways he's failed before, and he knows he will fail again. Instead, he throws himself forward, clinging to the tiny piece of light that still exists within his soul, wrenching it forward and dragging it to the forefront with all the energy he has left. It is, he somehow knows, the last thing he will ever do.

As he feels lightning sear over him as the fires on Mustafar did so many years ago, he can sense Vader being erased. Like the fire before it, the lightning burns away his old self—only, this time, it's not Vader that's left intact.

It's Anakin.

This transformation is killing him, of course. His body can no longer withstand an assault of this magnitude. Soon, he will be dead.

That, in an odd way, is as comforting as anything he's ever felt. The darkness has receded, and he is no longer cold. He will die warm, and when he does, he will _stay_ warm. He will not die as a creature of the dark, alone and hated. After twenty years of solitude, how can that _not_ be a comforting prospect?

When his son's face finally begins to fade from his vision—when he finds himself taking his final breath—he concentrates on that, clinging to that promise as he never has to anything before.

He's not alone anymore.

He is _not_ alone.

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Death is so simple. There's no fanfare, no ostentatious entrance. There are no crowds of people come to greet him—or to protest that he deserves an eternity far, _far_ more painful than this one is shaping up to be. Instead, he simply _is_, and nothing's better than that.

Because just to _be?_ It is a state without pain or the ache of loneliness.

"You knew you couldn't save me."

Once again, simple, because Obi-Wan is here, and any complications involving awkward greetings would be… well, _complicated_, and that's not what this is about.

"Oh, Anakin," he says with a kind, warm smile, his aura pulsing with satisfaction and happiness in a way that doesn't take sight, but that Anakin can still very much see. "It was never my job to. I was only there to point you in the right direction. In the end, it was Luke's destiny to do what I never could."

"You know how sorry I am, don't you?" It's not so much an apology—though he certainly _is_ sorry—as it is a confirmation of renewed affection.

Obi-Wan gives a light chuckle and gently rests his hands on Anakin's shoulders. Force, Anakin has missed touch, the contact of person to person. In his suit, he felt nothing; here, he can feel everything. This is the Force, and there is nothing corporeal, but touch is not obsolete. It simply exists, in a way that defies explanation, which is quite fortunate, as he's far past caring enough to attempt to provide one, even to himself.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says slowly, still smiling, "if you were not sorry, you wouldn't be here."

But he is sorry. And he _is_ here, which means he's not alone, nor will he ever be so again. Through Obi-Wan's refusal to abandon him, and Luke's timely redemption, he has found himself in a place far better than he ever expected. In this place, he will never experience the darkness.

Here, there is only light.

He turns into Obi-Wan's touch a little more firmly. "I've missed you, you know. I didn't know it at the time—I hated you too much—but that doesn't make it any less true."

"I know. It's why I came back."

"You came back because you knew I wanted you to, even if_ I_ didn't realize that?"

"No. I came back because I knew you _needed_ me to."

He doesn't require a better answer than that. Truthfully, there _is_ no better answer than that. "And my son?"

Obi-Wan gives a slight shrug. "I knew he was a chance for redemption. And, selfishly, I was sure he was the only one left who could save _you_."

"And that mattered?"

"Anakin, it always mattered."

How good this feels. This homecoming. This feeling of being cared for again, after going so long without it. "Can I see him? Once more?"

Before he's even finished speaking, the edges of reality are already beginning to blur around him, fading into smudges of light. Obi-Wan steps back away from him, gesturing towards the growing burst of radiance. This is the Force, he realizes, in its purest form.

He's never seen anything more perfect.

"After all this time, Anakin," he murmurs, a smile twisting his lips, "I can't think of anything else that you _should_ do." With a final chuckle, he lets himself fade into the brilliance around him. The expectation that Anakin will follow hangs in the Force behind him.

With absolutely no hesitation, Anakin walks into the light.


End file.
